


cutting stone

by fideliter



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M, eli's big beautiful beard, game typical levels of violence, lots of cussin', where is this going?? not sure!! let's find out together!! :")
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliter/pseuds/fideliter
Summary: Cutting stone, oh fear me none, whether wild or whether won.





	cutting stone

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary lyrics taken from "Cutting Stone" by The Decemberists.

Addison wakes to the taste of blood in her mouth and ringing in her ears.

The world refuses to come into focus for a few minutes, eyesight blurry and fuzzy in the worst way; it’s like being held underwater, like when John tried to drown her in that river. It takes a bit to clear, but when it does, she wishes it _hadn’t._. There is blood all around, soaking into the soil, bodies scattered here and there. None of them are wearing the ragged clothes of the Peggies - no, these were people from the resistance. And they were _slaughtered._ It looks like a fucking crime scene, and she’s standing right in the middle of it.

Untouched, uninjured, but covered in blood nonetheless.

( _But it’s not _your_ blood. You know that for a damn fact._ )

Breath shudders in the misty morning air, _panic_ welling in her chest. The ringing in her ears just won’t go away, and she aches, right down to her bones. _Jesus Christ_ , Addison thinks, taking a half-step backwards and nearly tripping when her legs hardly work. They stay strong for a moment but soon fold under her, sending her sprawling to the forest floor. Laying in the dirt and muck, she heaves a heavy breath, fingers shaking where they dig into the soil. How did she get here? How - how did all of this _happen?_

The radio pack sputters to life with a burst of static, and she _flinches_ , hand already reaching for the gun at her side. Which - _Christ_ , that’s not even her gun. It sits heavy in her hand, which should feel _strange_ , but it doesn’t. The weight of it is comforting, familiar, and that fact scares her.

_”Deputy, Addison, are you there?”_

Right, the radio.

Eli’s voice is easily recognizable even with the weak signal, and Addison grabs for the radio with still-shaking hands. “Here, Eli, I’m here.” Mouth works over the words like sandpaper; how long has it been since she last spoke? It feels like days and her throat _burns._

_“Thank god, Dep. Thought somethin’ finally got ya out there, it’s been a few days since your last check-in.”_ Has it? Addison rubs a hand across her face, eyes screwing up tight – as if that’ll help block out the sunlight. As if that’ll help put her memories back together. Of course it doesn’t, and of course Eli continues. _”You been huntin’?”_

She laughs, the sound just this side of hysterical. “Christ, Eli, I don’t know. I – I can’t remember what happened, and I don’t know where I am.” Voice is half a wheeze, panic edging into her words. Addison’s been through hell and back in this fucking county, but _christ_ , she hates these mountains the most. 

_“Easy, Dep,”_ Eli interrupts, voice strong even through the crackle of interference. He pauses and she takes a moment to just _breath_ , doing her very best to ignore the sickening copper taste in the air. To ignore everything that isn’t Eli’s voice. _”Just come on back to the Den, we’ll get ya back on the right path.”_

She nods, even if he can’t see her. She nods again as she pushes herself up into a stand, fingers whitening around the hold of the gun. She’s got a weapon, she’s got Eli, and now she’s got a plan. She’ll be okay, it’ll be fine. 

Somehow, someway, she pushes herself on shaking legs, and begins the journey on.

\--

Sharky grins as he hops into the passenger seat, hand immediately going for the radio controls. “Fuck yeah,” he says, slamming the _on_ button with way more force than technically necessary. Music rumbles through the truck’s speakers and Addison can’t help but flinch at the suddenness. Sharky doesn’t notice that, doesn’t notice how your knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. “Wheaty finally got some _real_ tunes! No more of that old ass shit, not for us!” The country rock is nothing like a music box’s melody, but it haunts her nonetheless.

_Smoke, so much smoke. Blaring red lights, the click of a slideshow projector. The kickback of an unfamiliar gun, the weight of it already reassuring as you focus down iron sights. Crooning vocals and a delicate melody, interrupted only by gunshots. The sick, feral pleasure of a **job well done.**_

_Perfect,_ a low voice says in her ear, echoing loud as anything, and Addison jerks the wheel to the right.

“Holy shit, Dep, warn a guy!” Sharky barks from the passenger seat, huffing like he’s truly offended. “You won’t let _me_ drive because when I veer off the road, it’s fine. But when _you_ do it, ya hot shot, it’s all good!” His voice drones over the music, and despite everything, Addison shoots him a smile. 

“That’s because I didn’t _mean_ to do it, Sharky,” she says, and feels a bit of pride at how steady her voice sounds. “ _You_ were aiming to _hit_ something.” 

Sharky continues talking – his grumbling fading into a story about something he and Hurk got up to when they were younger – and though her attention drifts, it helps. It drowns out the ringing in her ears, makes the pit of fear in her stomach a bit easier to ignore. It’s been about a week since the incident, but she still can’t account for those missing days.

(It haunts you. It _hunts_ you.)

Maybe the blood in clothes, on her hands, will never come off. Maybe there’ll always be a stain of it remaining, no matter how hard she scrubs. There isn’t enough bleach to wash out what she’s done in this county, and god damn, she’s not done yet.

She’ll get there, though. She _has_ to.

And all the while, even above the radio’s music and Sharky’s stories, she can still hear that voice. _His_ voice. Dark and deep, a sneer pitched low.

_Train. Hunt. Sacrifice._

\--

Silverware scrapes against plates, the scratching sound bringing her back to the present.

The Wolf’s Den has always been a hub of activity, from the very first time she was dragged in. Despite it being the base of operations, it’s always had a _homely_ feel to it. Well, as much as a bunker could manage. The walls might be drab and dark and the lighting dim, but everywhere you look, there’s memorabilia. Personal items that bring life and light to the Den. Dog-eared books and ratty blankets, mismatched socks and inscribed weapons.  
The militia doesn't just work here, they _live_ here. Maybe that’s why she likes it here so much.

They treat each other like a family, and just like a family, dinnertime is a social event. Chairs are dragged towards the biggest table, knees knocking together as everyone crowds around. Addison grins, taking the plate she’s offered eagerly. The food here isn’t great – some type of stew and canned vegetables tonight – but it’s _food_ and it’s _hot._ Field rations and protein bars can only get a person so far, and she doesn’t have much time to do anything else. A warm meal goes down easily, and so does the company.

There’s still so much work to be done, but Addison feels grounded. Feels _confident._ For the first time since she’d slapped those cuffs on Joseph Seed, she thinks she just might get outta this alive. 

Across the table, Eli catches her eye, and offers her an easy smile. 

She _has_ to get through this.

For them, if no one else. For _him._

It’s the fucking least she can do.

**Author's Note:**

> i have an entire google doc full of sin and i'm not afraid to use it


End file.
